


Dusk Descending

by Foxfire74



Category: Black Jewels Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxfire74/pseuds/Foxfire74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilhelmina on her own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We're going riding, Lady Benedict. Will you grace us with your company?"

Wilhelmina froze.

She'd been hurrying along a circuitous route to the family Craft library when she was intercepted by this friend of her fa- of Bobby's. A Green- Jeweled Prince, Lord Mericet was tall and devastatingly handsome, with melting brown eyes and sensual lips. And he'd never interested her in the slightest, not with the poisonous, predatory undertone to his psychic scent.

She smiled prettily at him while her mind ticked through calculations. Close enough to the kitchens that the servants would hear her if she screamed, but much too far from the relative safety of her bedroom...Mericet wouldn't come after her alone, but she knew what would happen if she were foolish enough to accept his "invitation." The Sapphire Jewel she wore protected her, but it couldn't stand against the combined strength of Bobby and two or three of his friends.

So she folded her hands demurely and smiled up at Mericet. "I'd love to, I really would," she cooed. "But I believe Lady Leland wants me for this afternoon - flower arranging, I think - and she'd be just devastated if I abandoned her. Do please convey my regrets."

She forced an airy giggle and fled, leaving behind air grown thick with the psychic scent of thwarted hunger. Mericet knew perfectly well why she'd turned him down, that much was obvious, but she didn't know if he would tell Bobby. She didn't think he _could_. Not without breaking the subtle veil of hints and allusions that more and more Blood males used, the Web that let them prey on their own children and still believe themselves human. The only time the hints were stripped down to truth was in - was-

No. She wasn't going to think about that place.

 _There is no cure for Briarwood_ , something whispered in her mind.

She passed the music room, ducked down a shadowy hallway, and took a little-used stairway down to the kitchen. Then it was through the kitchen, dodging tables, scullions, and Cook's concerned glance, and up the narrow servants' stairs to the family suites. If Bobby was really out riding, she should be more or less safe here. Alexandra was holding Court, dealing with the day's business, and Phillip wouldn't betray her to Bobby even if he did see her here.

Still, she didn't relax until she was in her room. It wasn't really home, with its determinedly sweet decoration and the array of dolls that hadn't been moved since she was twelve, but it was safe. And it had the cache of Craft books she'd been smuggling out of the library and reading by witchlight, deep into the night. The books were dusty and dry, in several senses of the word, but she was learning more from them than she ever could from Graff. At least the books didn't shout at her. And as long as she kept the books hidden, nobody could criticize her for an "eccentric" interest in outdated Craft. With the door Sapphire-locked behind her, no one in the house or out of it could enter without her permission. She'd had to work hard to convince the Jewel to extend its protection of her body to protection of her bedroom, but it was more than worth it to be able to sleep through the night again.

But oh, she wished the power was hers and not borrowed...She had only a faint bond with the Sapphire Jewel Jaenelle had given her, only enough for it to sense when she was in danger. Sometimes she could coax a little more response out of it, but it took hours of concentration and left her noticeably exhausted. And she couldn't ever let anybody notice.

The lock had caused a minor uproar the first time she used it, with Alexandra icily inquiring why she no longer trusted her family, and veiled threats from Bobby that she clearly needed more paternal supervision, if she was becoming so paranoid. But Leland, of all people, had smoothed the situation over with easy grace, saying that a young witch needed her privacy and telling a story or two about her own moody ways as a girl. For a moment, Wilhelmina had caught an odd, protective undertone in her stepmother's psychic scent, and it made her wonder.

Had Leland ever had to learn every corner of her house, to get from one place to another unseen, or spend nights sitting up in bed, listening with sick dread for footsteps in the hall? Did she have to create a strengthless, frivolous mask to hide from the males who feared and hated strong witches? And how long before mask and wearer became one?

How long did _she_ have?

She had to go. Somehow.

She couldn't evade Bobby and his friends forever, and the warier she became, the more subtle were the traps they set for her. The only way to escape them was to hide in her room at all times, and that way led to words like "difficult" and "eccentric." That way led to Briarwood, or somewhere different on the surface and just as rotten at the core. Already Alexandra's expression held equal shares of worry and suspicion when she thought Wilhelmina couldn't see her.

But it was more than two years until her majority, and until then the family could bring her back from wherever they might find her. She didn't know how to find a place that an under-age witch could hide...

 _Kaeleer_ , whispered the Sapphire Jewel she held.

" _How_ , damn it?" she snapped back.

Noble-born and noble-educated, she knew volumes about dancing, art, literature and music. But she knew hardly anything about the land, about travel or independence - she did know that she simply didn't have the skills for the Shadow Realm. Or the strength to get there; the Purple Dusk was a feeble defense against some of the males who prowled the Realms. Maybe, if she could find a safe place until she made the Offering, she could find her way there alone. And just maybe, find her sister, and then she wouldn't have to be alone any more.

She glanced over at the row of porcelain-faced dolls, remembering when they had decorated the nursery instead, years ago. Remembering when she came stumbling in, in tears from a blistering lecture from Graff, and plopped down with her head in her hands. She'd jumped in startlement at a cool touch on her shoulders, and looked up to see Jaenelle standing precariously in her crib, baby face frowning in fierce concentration as the largest doll wrapped stuffed arms around Wilhelmina in a clumsy hug. The warmth from that still lingered, even when Jaenelle...well, scared her a little.

 _I want my sister..._ she thought wistfully. Then, with a fierceness that surprised her, _I want her BACK!_

 _Kaeleer_ , the Jewel whispered again.

Lost in thought, this time she didn't answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilhelmina was shaking all over, but she didn't make a sound as she sidled along in the darkened Benedict stables. Puzzled equine faces peered at her from over the half-doors of their stalls, but there was only one low whicker of greeting, from her own long-retired pony. Even that startled her, but she forced back her gasp of surprise as she crept toward the tackroom.

She was nowhere near ready, but that didn't matter any more. She had to go. Bobby had been waiting for her near her room this afternoon, _smiling_. Fully aware, at last, that the Sapphire she wore did nothing more than protect her physically, and giving her a choice between submitting to him or being handed over to his darker-Jeweled friends. Friends who were more than powerful enough to overcome the Sapphire, and send Bobby the leavings.

For one terrible moment, the naïvety and confusion she'd imitated so many times became real, and she'd panicked and bolted for her room. With the door safely locked, she could think a little more clearly, but all her thinking led her to only one solution.

Away. Tonight. Bobby doubtless expected her to spend several hours dithering, so she scooped up what little she could take with her and went out the window. She couldn't walk on air like Jaenelle, but she could use Craft to strengthen the ornamental roses that climbed the walls until they would bear her weight. The punctures in her hands would heal eventually. After a brief, harrowing climb, there was only hiding in the gardens until dark, wrapped in Purple Dusk sight, sound and psychic shields. She didn't dare move until she saw lights winking out in the Benedict house.

It didn't take long to get to the stables, though her plans didn't include much more than saddling a horse and riding it as far as possible. She'd wanted to find one of the more isolated Territories, where her scant collection of jewelry could buy her a few months in an inn, but she hadn't been able to find one remote enough in all her geography books. And now she was out of time. If they-

"Lady!"

The hoarse whisper came from just ahead, scaring her so badly that she jumped back, lost her footing, and went over backwards on the hard-packed earth. Jaenelle's Sapphire Jewel flared in response to her fear.

"Lady, it's only me! Just Andrew." The stable boy sidled out of the stall where he'd been waiting, carrying a heap of leatherwork and a tightly shuttered lantern that glowed faintly. He set the lantern down and opened it a fingerwidth more, so she could see his face. "I'm sorry I startled you. But I don't want to be seen any more than you do."

"But what are you-" She shook her head in confusion, and abruptly fear filled her - deep-rooted, cold fear, unlike the flash of alarm she'd felt earlier. "Did Bobby send you?"

"Not likely!" he said indignantly. "Look, I know what happened. Lord Robert talks to the kennelmaster, the kennelmaster talks to the Master of Horse, and me - well, I hear things. I figured any witch worth her Jewels would run for safety if she couldn't fight, so I wanted to give you a hand. Fact is, if you hadn't had the sense to run tonight, I'd have probably been parading a horse outside your bedroom window until you got the idea."

She almost giggled at the mental image. "So what's the - oh." On closer inspection, the cluster of leatherwork Andrew had been carrying resolved itself into saddle and bridle.

"Tack," he answered. "And a few other things Cook and I thought you might need. What's in your pack?"

"Riding habits," she said hesitantly. "And some Craft books and - and my jewelry." It was a scanty list at best, and she was surprised to see Andrew nod approvingly.

"Good thinking, considering you didn't exactly have time to pack. The things I brought should help." He handed her a bag holding clothes and a generous supply of bread and cheese, then carefully turned his back while she changed from her silky tea dress to the homespun skirt and blouse. The fabric felt harsh and itchy against her skin, but it gave her a much better chance of passing unnoticed.

When she let Andrew turn around, he led her to a stall that held a slender, dapple-gray mare. "Opal's got a habit of lifting the latch and going for a walk on moonlit nights like these. Ain't it a shame she took it in her head to do it tonight?" Deftly, he saddled and bridled the horse. "She'll do her best for you. I don't want to know where you're going, but if you take to the Winds, just take off her gear and let her run. She'll find her own way home."

Wilhelmina nodded, then took a deep breath and reached for the mare's saddle. As Andrew held out cupped hands for her to step up, she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "If I can pay you back, I will."

He was still blushing as she urged Opal to a careful walk out of the stables, past paddock and fields to the wilder grounds away from the house. Once out of earshot, she gave the mare room to run, and they moved at a ground-eating lope away from Benedict property and into unclaimed lands.

The forest at night was different from the daytime, and she didn't like it at all. The cool breeze felt like a stranger's touch on her shoulders, and every rustle in the underbrush left her heart pounding and her eyes vainly searching for a threat. Jaenelle would probably have been friends with every creature out here, but Wilhelmina was just a Purple Dusk witch, more familiar with music and drawing rooms than with the wildness that haunted Blood lands.

 _And libraries. Don't forget libraries._ A tiny spark of defiance flared. She might not be brave, but she was smart enough - and, after all that time locked in her room with nothing but Craft books, she was probably better-informed than the rest of the family. So she concentrated, placing a light shield around Opal to keep stray branches from startling the mare and creating a tiny, comforting ball of witchlight just ahead. She still clutched the reins nervously, but she'd stopped whirling in a panic at every sound from behind her. The night wasn't quite as bad when you could make your own light.

By the time she reached her destination - a lonely hill near the Altar where she'd had her Birthright Ceremony - she was almost enjoying the stars and the darkness. That didn't stop her from feeling a whisper of trepidation when she dismounted Opal and unsaddled her. It was going to be so lonely out here without any living creature around.

But she wouldn't be staying long.

She finished unsaddling the mare and sent her on her way with a whispered word of thanks, then closed her eyes and _reached_ , feeling for the Winds. Phillip had taken her here once, on a leisurely excursion to celebrate her new Birthright Jewels; he hadn't let her ride any Wind darker than the Rose, but tonight she was going to need all the speed she could muster. She opened herself, feeling the Purple Dusk Wind tugging at her, resonating with her Jewels. Another moment and it whisked her away, blowing her far away from home.

It was an exhilarating feeling, and she rode it till morning, before she started looking for a place to rest. She was far from home, but not so far that she wanted to risk an inn; an empty stretch of land would do well enough while she rested. She had enough food for the day, and enough Craft to keep herself safe from wild animals. They were probably less dangerous than the Blood males she'd find in any city.

So she rode the Wind toward the first promising place she saw - a thick, dense-planted wood that promised cover on all sides. Nothing intriguing, no promise of game to lure hunters; it was possibly the least interesting place she'd ever seen, and that was just what she needed. As she got closer, she squinted and shook her head; for a moment, it seemed she could see a spiderweb-shape in the trees-

Then she lost the Wind and tumbled, crashing down through trees that melted away as she grabbed for them. Sunlight that should have been blocked by the trees glowed around her as she fell. She landed sprawled in soft earth, several feet away from a gray-eyed, grubby witch in a gardener's smock, who took one look at her and demanded "Who in Hell's name are _you?_ "


	3. Chapter 3

In the sunny upstairs bedroom, Wilhelmina took a moment to stretch away the oddly pleasant ache in her muscles. She'd been helping with yardwork all morning, from weeding to chicken-feeding to (ugh!) cleaning out the goat shed, and while she was new to all of it, she'd done better than she expected. Or so she gathered, from the way Delia's attitude had shifted from resentful tolerance to cautious acceptance over the course of the morning.

Several weeks ago now, when she'd first accidentally found this house, the young witch whose gardening she'd interrupted had hustled her unceremoniously inside and poured out her version of events to Phoebe, the sharp-eyed old woman who met her in the kitchen. After a period of mutual suspicion, the stories were sorted out to everyone's satisfaction - which meant, Wilhelmina suspected, that no one was getting more than half the truth. She certainly hadn't told them everything she was hiding, only that she was trying to stay out of an unpleasant family fight, and they seemed to be holding at least that much back from her. What they had told her was that the old witch was a Black Widow raising her orphaned granddaughter, Delia, and that she'd found herself at the borders of a mountain Territory named Dena Nehele. Phoebe had surrounded their tiny acreage with well-hidden Webs that kept it concealed - or at least, had kept it concealed until Wilhelmina blundered across one.

After careful negotiation, they'd reached a bargain, exchanging food and shelter for extra help with the farm and someone for Delia to practice Craft lessons with. It didn't take long for the lessons to expand, until Phoebe was teaching them both Craft, and Wilhelmina was passing her own knowledge on to Delia - mostly book-learning and the finer points of Protocol. Phoebe had seemed thoroughly satisfied when that topic came up, leaving Wilhelmina confused but willing to assist. She didn't know what Delia would need Protocol for, living in this backwater corner of a remote Territory. The closest thing to civilization was a small village nearly a day's walk away, and that was as close as Wilhelmina wanted to get for a while. From what Phoebe had said, the Territory Queen was no one to cross, or even get near if you could help it; she owed fealty to Hayll, and enjoyed showing off every bit of power she had. It was no wonder Phoebe wanted to stay away from her; Black Widows had a way of making anybody uneasy, and Phoebe's Queen granddaughter had to add to the perceived threat.

At least, until you looked closely. Delia might have been born a Queen, but Wilhelmina could only feel a minimal amount of power from her. Not even enough to be a District Queen - so why did she catch echoes of Phoebe's worry and determination every time the old woman looked at her granddaughter?

 _I am so_ tired _of secrets,_ she thought.

But everyone had them, and complaining about it wasn't going to do a thing but sink her in self-pity. And she knew already how dangerous that could be, how it left you blind and mired and unable to save yourself.

She changed out of the dirty dress she'd been wearing to garden and shrugged into one of her old riding habits. She didn't have long before Phoebe would start lessons for the day, and she was feeling oddly cheerful about them. She'd learned more in a month here than she had over all the years of Graff's tutelage, and was slowly coming to look forward to demonstrating her skills. Even with a partner - Delia had a thorough grasp of the fundamentals of Craft, but no finesse, and Wilhelmina had control to cover the surprising gaps in her knowledge. Between them, she thought they added up to one skilled witch. And while Delia had her difficult (well, infuriating) moments, mostly when she felt her territory was being infringed upon, she was slowly becoming a friend.

She trotted down the stairs, stopping halfway down with an inquisitive sniff. Sweet dough, cinnamon, and cloves...her stomach rumbled its opinion of the matter, and she blushed. Graff or even Alexandra would have lectured her sharply for that alone, never mind the calluses, the broken nails, and the tan that was just starting to color her skin.

So maybe living out here in the hinterlands wasn't so bad after all.

She followed her nose to the kitchen, where Phoebe was up to her elbows in something sweet-smelling and doughy, kneading away with surprising strength for her stick-thin figure. Wilhelmina stood there for several seconds, wavering between decorum and the urge to sample whatever Phoebe was working on. Finally, the old Black Widow cast a bright, amused glance back over her shoulder at Wilhelmina. "Delia would have stolen half my pie by now, you know."

"And gotten her knuckles rapped with that rolling pin, too," she retorted. " _I've_ seen how fast you move when you want to."

Phoebe crowed with laughter, more than the simple comment merited. "So you _do_ have a backbone after all, child! I've wondered where you were hiding it."

"Of course I do," she retorted, stung. "But you've - you've taken me in and taught me, and I don't want to be rude. And it's not ladylike anyway-"

Phoebe didn't scoff as she had half-feared, but reached out two floury fingers and tipped Wilhelmina's chin up to meet her gaze. "You're a Jeweled female, and a witch before you're a Lady. You'll do yourself - and us - more good if you learn how to show your teeth and not your belly."

Wilhelmina bristled a little at that; she knew she wasn't brave, but she could still survive in the murky arena of high Blood society, where all the smiles were poisonous and every knife was hidden. For all her power, Phoebe couldn't do that. "I - I can take care of myself. Mostly." Her cheeks reddened as she remembered how helpless she'd felt against Bobby.

Phoebe's bird-bright eyes softened. "Whatever you ran from, there's no shame in it. I'm sure you'd do well as simply a noblewoman, but...child, something's coming. Something so vast I can't even see its shadow when I weave a Web, and I can't tell if it's bringing healing or destruction. I want my granddaughter to survive. I want you to survive. And I don't know how much time I'll have to teach you."

"Teach us what?"

"Anything. Everything. Teach Delia the ways of ruling, teach you the Webs, if you choose-"

"What?"

"The Webs. You have the potential, if you choose it - the Hourglass is in your blood, if not in your soul."

She couldn't quite repress a shiver. Her long-dead mother had been a Black Widow, but the thought was far from comfortable. Still, it was a powerful lure to think of knowing things the Black Widows knew, things that no one else could ever learn...

"Think about it," Phoebe said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I'll be here when you make your choice. Meanwhile-" Deftly, she scooped up the mass of dough she'd been working with, filled it with spiced fruit, and slid the results into the oven. "Meanwhile, there's still lessons. Go into the parlor and set up the chess board, if you would. I'll be along in a moment."

*************************

Today's lesson was taking the form of a chess game, somewhat to Wilhelmina's surprise. Anything at all was allowable, so long as it was done with Craft; both girls had learned to watch out for surreptitious attempts to move the opponent's piece for her, and Delia had promptly thrown a physical shield over her pieces to prevent it happening again after Wilhelmina tried it. Wilhelmina eyed the shield thoughtfully; she couldn't tell the strength of the actual shield, but since Delia's Queen was Green and hers was only Purple Dusk, she left it alone and concentrated on the actual strategy of her moves. She moved one of her Healers to the protection of a Warlord, sat back, and waited.

Delia frowned, thinking. And thinking. And thinking some more, while Wilhelmina fought the urge to drum her fingers. The other witch played to win at any cost, but at least half the time she wore herself out on Wilhelmina's defensive formations. And it didn't look like she'd be moving any time soon. Wilhelmina suppressed a smile, closed her eyes, and concentrated until each of Delia's chessmen was thumbing its nose at its neighbor.

Delia wrinkled her nose, sent up a miniaturized burst of fireworks over the "battlefield" just to prove she'd been paying attention, and went right back to studying the board. The chessmen stayed the way they were. Phoebe just smirked.

Eventually, Delia moved her Consort to threaten Wilhelmina's Healer-Warlord formation. Wilhelmina hovered over the pieces long enough to make sure the other witch's attention was focused on them, then moved her Healer backward and focused all her attention on the enemy consort. The chess piece blanched from Delia's black to Wilhelmina's white, as she slowly took her hand off the Healer.

Delia reached for her Consort, took in its altered appearance, and pressed her lips close together. "Excuse me," she said in a tight voice, then stood up and walked from the room. It wasn't anything as undignified as a run, but Wilhelmina knew that pace from experience, and knew the other witch was looking for a place to vent her emotions in private.

She just didn't know _why_.

She looked questioningly at Phoebe, but the Black Widow speared her with a glance that said "you started it, you fix it". She felt a burst of exasperation with every single close-mouthed witch in this house - herself included - and funneled it into a flicker of Craft that left the chess set clean of Jeweled residue and carefully packed before she marched outside to find Delia.

The young Queen was about where Wilhelmina had guessed, down on her knees and elbow-deep in a patch of herbs that really didn't need the ferocious weeding she was giving them. Wilhelmina plopped down right beside her and dug in as well; you couldn't talk with one person weeding and one standing still, and Delia was much too stubborn to stop working.

"I'm sorry about that. Whatever 'that' was."

"It's...complicated. It's just - I worry, that's all."

Wilhelmina squashed the bitter little voice that asked what a _Queen_ had to worry about, and kept her tone even. "Worry about what?"

"Consorts." Delia's cheeks went pink under their tan. "Males in general, really. Gran and the other witches have tried so hard to keep us all safe, but so many of the males have been - have been brutalized."

"And passed it on to the witches after that," Wilhelmina said sharply.

"I know. Gran guessed that about you the first day you were here." Delia pulled fretfully at a green shoot that might or might not have been a weed. "It scares me, that I might come up against something - somebody - like you did. And someday soon I'm going to need a strong Consort - how do I dare choose, knowing what kind of males are out there?"

Wilhelmina just shook her head; she had no idea either. But the thought of Andrew in the stables gleamed briefly in her mind. There were still some trustworthy Blood left, scattered here and there.

As the sun lowered they worked for a while in companionable silence, moving on to plants that actually did need weeding, until something Delia had said tugged at her mind. "You said you were going to need a strong Consort. Did Phoebe see something?"

"Gran? No. Not about that, anyway. But I'm going to be Territory Queen - if I can stay out of trouble long enough to make the Offering - and there's so much rebuilding that we'll have to do...I'll need every bit of help I can get."

Territory Queen? But Delia's power was so dim and unfocused...Then she knew. She should have seen it earlier, after all those years of watching Jaenelle come and go, hiding her power at every turn. "Phoebe's disguising you, isn't she?"

Delia nodded, embarrassed at the deception but straightforward as ever. "Strong Queens have a way of disappearing in Territories under Hayll's shadow. Gran couldn't hide that I'm a Queen, but she could hide my Jewels; as far as anybody knows, I've only just got the power for the White. She's been doing it all my life."

"And she still has the strength to weave Webs? She must be-"

"She wears the Gray," Delia said quietly. "So will I, when I make the offering. One of our Queens created the spell, a long time ago - nobody knows how to duplicate it, but there's always one witch in the Territory with the Gray or the potential for it. Not always a Queen, but there is always a Gray Lady in Dena Nehele."

Gray. More power even than Dorothea. She could understand Phoebe's protectiveness; a Queen with that strength could restore the territory, restore the Blood around her...as long as no one found her while she was still vulnerable. Keeping quiet hadn't been enough to save Jaenelle, but here in Dena Nehele, the only thing she could do was also the _right_ thing to do. Thank the Darkness..."I'll keep your secret."

"I know," Delia said with perfect trust. "Besides, it wasn't fair - you not knowing our secrets while we knew yours."

"Not all of them," Wilhelmina confessed, and found herself telling the other girl about Bobby. About Graff. About the Sapphire that was and wasn't hers. About Jaenelle and the failure she felt when she thought about her, the way her mind flinched away from that titanic strength, no matter how much she loved her sister. She trembled through some of the disconnected stories, but it felt good to get them out in the open, where they couldn't fester any longer.

And Phoebe watched the two witches from the kitchen half-door, a satisfied smile curving her lips. For years she'd seen the growing distrust in Dena Nehele, between the genders and between one strong witch and the next. Now the strands of trust were beginning to reknit themselves, strength to strength, and watching the web heal was all she could have asked for.


	5. Chapter 5

Wilhelmina walked into the small Altar, hands clasped lightly on the basket she held. The concentration it took to keep the serene expression on her face was almost enough to distract her from the sick fear inside. She didn't feel ready for this, but she was never going to be any more ready. For months she'd studied, she'd practiced, she'd learned every bit of Craft that Phoebe could teach her, soaking up the knowledge like a thirsty plant in springtime.

And she was still terrified.

She'd lived for years with the fear of being broken, but this was the first time the danger had come from within herself. If she failed the Offering, she'd come out with only her birthright Purple Dusk or not come out at all - and she didn't know if she was strong enough. But she'd realized weeks ago that she would never know for sure; the time since had been spent mustering up the courage to come anyway. She hoped she could hold on to it long enough.

At the door to the inner Altar, she stopped and bowed to the Priestess who guarded it, handing her the basket she carried. It was customary to give the Priestess some consideration before the Offering; in this poor corner of the Territory, it had to be preserves from the garden she and Delia had tended all summer. She found she liked them better than the valuable bauble that would have been given to a Priestess in Chaillot; this at least represented her own efforts.

Besides, from the faint gleam in the Priestess' eyes at the unmistakable scent of spice-apples, it would be much more appreciated than some ornamental trinket.

The Priestess gave her an appreciative smile before smoothing her face into the calm mask the Offering required. "I will be in the outer sanctuary tonight and tomorrow. After the Offering, I will leave water to refresh you and bread if you hunger. Take whatever time you need; if I have not seen you by sunset tomorrow, I will come to find you."

Sunset to sunrise, and a day to adjust to any...changes...the Offering might cause. "Thank you."

"May the Darkness shelter you." The Priestess opened the door, murmured a soft blessing, and then gestured her into the inner Altar.

Leaving Wilhelmina alone with herself and the Darkness.

***************************

Without seeing it, she knew when the sun came up and the Offering ended. She stared down in relief and wonder at the Sapphire Jewels cupped in her hands, not quite believing that she'd not only survived but descended the full three ranks from her Birthright as well. She'd never been so exhausted, but the dark influx of power rushing through her was so strong she felt she could fly.

A touch of Craft set the Sapphires spinning in front of her, witchlight glittering off their blue facets. She watched them for a moment with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, until something distracted her, pulling at her consciousness. On instinct, she called in the Sapphire Jaenelle had given her. It flickered in her hands, growing dimmer and more transparent with every moment. She could feel her tenuous bond with the Jewel start to fade, and used the last of it to reach down to the heart of the Jewel, down where it shared some of Jaenelle's essence. The bond faded out completely as she left a message. *I do love you. I miss you. I'm going to find you.*

Kaeleer, the Jewel whispered in her mind one last time, and this time Wilhelmina actually laughed.

"I _know_ that!"

The Sapphire vanished, and Wilhelmina's Jewels fell into her lap. She vanished them carefully and climbed to her feet, stiff from spending - how long? - kneeling on the stone floor. She could have cheerfully slept for a week, but she wanted to let the Priestess know she was all right, so she could pass it on to Delia and Phoebe.

But she didn't have to. The Queen-in-waiting was sitting outside the sanctuary door, with a tray that held a prodigious breakfast for Wilhelmina and a slightly more demure one for Delia.

" _Thank_ you!" She plopped down next to her friend and downed a breakfast roll in two bites. It wasn't ladylike. She didn't care.

"So what happened?" Delia was practically vibrating with curiosity, but was (barely) too well-mannered to use a psychic probe.

Mouth full, Wilhelmina called in the larger Sapphire and displayed it on an open palm. Delia squeaked with excitement before remembering she was in an Altar (and Wilhelmina didn't really _want_ to know how the young Queen had wheedled her way in here). "You did it! I'm so glad for you - do you know what you're going to do?"

"Traveling, it looks like. I've got family in Kaeleer I need to find."

Delia looked slightly downcast at the news that she would be leaving, but there was still suppressed excitement sparkling all around her. "I hate to see you go, but Kaeleer is probably the safest place for you. For anyone. Gran says something's coming. Her Webs won't tell her much, but it's going to be dangerous - and if we can survive it, it'll set my Territory free." Her gray eyes glittered, and Wilhelmina felt a faint touch of envy of Dena Nehele's people, living under a Queen who would not betray them.

"You'll do fine." Joy and pain, rage and celebration - she'd heard the words somewhere before, and somehow they tied into the fate of the Queen of Dena Nehele. Whatever was coming, her friend would survive it. And so would she. She was often afraid - probably always would be, on some level - but she would never be helpless again.


	6. Chapter 6

Epilogue

On the outskirts of Beldon Mor, a cloaked and hooded figure made its way through driving rain to the door of a ramshackle but clean cottage and knocked on the door. The cottage's occupant tensed at the sound, then steeled himself, got up, and limped toward the door. It was hard on nights like these. The rain intensified all the old aches from the beating he'd gotten when they dismissed him from Benedict service; a dose of brandy dulled the pain enough to walk, but he wasn't good for much else just now,he thought bitterly. But if the boys from the kennel had come back to finish what they started - well, he'd do his best to take one or two of them with him.

He opened the door, bracing himself. But his visitor was small and slight, even bundled into a bulky rain cloak. When she pulled the hood back, his tension drained out of him, replaced by a slow, proud grin. "Lady Benedict. You're looking well."

"I wish I could say the same for you," she retorted; then her voice softened. "Andrew, I'm sorry. For what my family did to you. I never thought to look for you here, after I couldn't find you at...at the old place."

"I'll live, Lady," he replied simply. "But I don't think you came here - on a night like this, yet! - to ask after my health. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. "At least - well, I'm hoping I can help you. I've been corresponding with somebody who can get safe passage out of Terreille. It's a gamble, but neither of us should have trouble finding a place - and I owe you, after what you've done for me."

He thought about it, but not for long. "Anything's worth a try, and I can't find work here since the Benedicts dismissed me. Besides, what kind of man would I be if I let you travel the Realms unescorted?"

She closed her eyes for a relieved moment. "I'm glad you'll come. I wanted to find someplace safe, Andrew - something terrible is coming to Beldon Mor, and I don't want to be here to meet it."

"I'll drink to that, Lady. Only one question - where are we going?"

"Home, I hope. We're going to Kaeleer."


End file.
